trigger
by f y r e l a r k
Summary: It was just a crush. Her Tookish side acting up again, as one's arthritis might. And anyway, she was much too old to be having crushes on anyone, not to mention a moody sod of a Dwarrow whose cheek muscles would probably catch fire if he ever tried to smile. [Bagginshield][Fem!Bilbo]
1. I

**trigger**

_[Part I of III]_

* * *

She didn't know when she started finding him attractive.

Well, she supposed she found him attractive the moment he met her—standing on her stoop in the rain, scowling from beneath his hood, beard gleaming wet and blue eyes full of irritation. Not the best first impression. But that evening had been full of miserable first impressions, so the thought of a handsome Dwarf standing on her sodden stoop hadn't been that big of a blow. She had thought him terribly tall, and muscular to boot; and she would be a dreadful liar if she couldn't admit that his beautiful singing had been wonderful. Something deep within her had quivered and her eyes had even watered a touch over Thorin Oakenshield's singing. (That was the first time he made her cry—and it wouldn't be the last.)

But now, this was quite different. She couldn't understand why her eyes kept snagging on him; why he seemed to cast light, dimming others around him. Truly his presence was an awesome might, as implacable and terrifying as a mountain, and when he barked orders there _was_ something deliciously grumbly in his voice; Thorin demanded attention, from his posture to his build, and even the off-putting scowl that always seemed seated on his features wasn't a deterrent.

She kept finding herself staring at him, watching his big, calloused hands move expertly through whatever task happened to occupy his time. He never moved to excess—everything about him was firm and deliberate, as if wasted movement was a crime. No matter how difficult the task seemed to be (swordfighting, lighting the campfire, fishing, getting Kili to shut up) he concluded it swiftly and succinctly.

Once, she had seen him carry back an armload of firewood from the forest and the way his broad shoulders hugged the branches had made her _blush_ like a tween for some reason; it was thoroughly ridiculous. Then on another occasion, she had watched him tug idly on the braids in his hair, and had wondered what his beard would feel like beneath her fingers.

It really was bothering her, truly, that she couldn't find out why she was following him around such. Part of her wanted to stay quite a distance away from Thorin, since his proximity always seemed to bring out the worst in her. And yet another part wanted to be as close to him as possible, perhaps tucked inside his cloak, where it was certain to be warm and cozy. And quite close to his strong chest, as a happy coincidence.

Bella jerked and nearly fell off her pony. How could she have been so stupid? Here she was, daydreaming about cuddling beneath Thorin's cloak and fantasizing about running her fingers through his beard and hair…

She had a crush on Thorin Oakenshield!

Well, of all the preposterous, ridiculous things!

* * *

Now that _that_ problem had been solved, Bella had to find out what to do about it. She couldn't go around mooning over the King of Erebor—it wasn't proper. This kept her busy for many days, and as they traveled her little problem became worse. Now, whenever someone mentioned his name she twitched, and when she saw him, a blush rose immediately to her cheeks. Seeing as it was a small company and they spent the whole day together, Bella spent quite a bit of time twitching and blushing.

"Are you all right, Bella?" Balin finally asked her one night, as they were sitting around the campfire. "You've been rather jumpy lately. Nothing bothering our burglar, I hope?

"Of course not!" Bella managed a smile over the rim of her bowl. Thorin came clomping noisily back to camp and sat down with a flourish; she choked on a bit of soup and Kili pounded her on the back. Thorin barely spared her a glance, and instead warmed his hands by the fire. She missed the mischievous look exchanged between Fili and Kili, and if she _had_ seen it, she might have been better off just getting up and leaving.

"Are you sure?" Fili asked innocently. "We've noticed you've been a bit red in the face these past few weeks."

"'Round the ears, too," Kili added, nodding and scraping his spoon around the bowl.

"As a matter of fact, you always get red whenever Uncle comes around," Fili said, "has he been a bully? Because you know it's how he shows affection."

Bella blushed to the roots of her hairline and buried herself in her soup. "Of course! I mean, of course not, I don't need…erm, affection. I'm fine. Yes. Quite fine."

"Leave Bella alone, boys," Balin spoke up, giving them a glare. Fili and Kili were having entirely too much fun with their bashful burglar.

To make matters worse, Thorin looked up and Bella could _feel_ those beautiful blue eyes on her. She turned even pinker and spilled some soup on her bodice, but hardly noticed, her hands were shaking so badly. It was mean of the boys, so horribly mean to tease her so—she wasn't that obvious, was she? And yet she couldn't control her blush.

"Well, Bella might be ill," Kili put in, trying to be serious, "she may have a serious condition which makes her blush like a primrose whenever Uncle is near – yowch!"

Dwalin had elbowed the young lad without even looking. Kili burst out into very unmanly giggles, and Fili joined him for a brief moment. However, they continued undeterred.

"Yes, yes, she could be quite ill—do you feel at all well, Miss Bella? Why look, I do believe she's gone straight from primrose to tomato, you ought to see a doctor!"

Bella stood up suddenly and shoved her bowl into Ori's lap. "If you're all going to have a good laugh at my expense, I'd rather you do it when I'm not here to listen," she said, but her hearing seemed muffled beneath the blood pounding through her cheeks. "And perhaps that's chatting behind one's back, which is also quite _rude_, I might say, but it's far preferable to sitting here listening to you two prattle on."

"Ah, Miss Bella," Fili began, already looking sorry, "we didn't mean—"

"I need a breath of air, if you please," Bella managed to squeak out indignantly, and left in a whirl of skirts. She stormed off with as much poise as she could muster, before she tripped over a tree root and fell flat. Thankfully, she didn't hear those Dwarves laughing at her, but still, her knees smarted and she had dirt under her nails. Not to mention her bodice had soup on it, as well as a bit of mud.

They had made their camp by some running water, which was really too large to be called a stream but much too small to be called a river. She knelt on the shores and splashed some water onto her face. Already she was feeling ashamed for dashing off like she did, not to mention the boys would be terribly sorry in the morning. And she had to face them sometime. That was the problem with throwing a tantrum, it had to end sometime and then things were always just awkward.

Bella wondered vaguely if there wasn't some kind of spell Gandalf could put on her when he returned, to make her fall…_out of love_, or however the term went, with Thorin. Not that she was in love! It was just a crush. Her Tookish side acting up again, as one's arthritis might. And anyway, she was _much_ too old to be having crushes on anyone, not to mention a moody sod of a Dwarrow whose cheek muscles would probably catch fire if he ever tried to smile.

She knew that if she stayed by the river much longer, someone would come and try to find her. And that would be horrible, just a simply dreadful idea.

"Miss Burglar," a deep, very familiar voice rumbled. Bella nearly had kittens, and turned around with a small shriek.

Thorin stopped advancing, standing at the treeline some ten feet away. "My apologies. I thought you had heard me coming." He said, sounding stiff.

Bella looked down at his big, clumpy boots who always hailed his coming with loud scraping, thumping sounds and wondered how she hadn't heard him coming up behind her. She seemed to be the quietest one of the lot, curse her padded Hobbit feet.

"Oh! Yes. I'm sorry, I…no, I didn't hear you come up, I was…" she gestured vaguely. Her blush, which had begun to die down, flared back onto her cheeks. He was _looking_ at her, with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight into her soul. Bother those eyes. Twice bother them, making her squirm around so much.

He seemed to be waiting for her to finish, and when she showed no signs of continuing, he sighed. "My nephews seek only cheap entertainment," he said quietly. "Which is a poor excuse for belittling another member of the company. They forget your feminine sensibilities, do forgive them."

Feminine sensibilities? _Feminine sensibilities?_ She wasn't some fluffy-headed Proudfoot, prone to waxing poetic and languishing without a gentleman caller, she was at least _part_ Took! And that had to count for something! She stiffened her back and her nose rose pertly. "Thank you, Master Oakenshield, for taking care of my feminine sensibilities," she said, and it came out much colder than intended. "I'll remember that when I'm facing down a _dragon_ for you."

With nothing but the moonlight to illuminate his face, she couldn't be _quite_ sure of his expression but he seemed angry. She waited, back straight and looking him in the eye for once, and when he didn't say anything she deflated a bit. Having a row wouldn't have solved anything, but it might make her feel a bit better. He met her gaze, but thanks to the shadows his glare seemed like any other glare, and after a few moments of silence she flounced past him. (As she drew nearer to the fire, she reminded herself not to flounce. Tookish Hobbits who went on adventures didn't flounce, they marched.)

Before she even reached the fire, she saw Fili and Kili already standing up, calling out apologies. She went straight up to them and hugged them both around the neck. Inwardly, she was still indignant, and she may have quivered a bit, but she was moderately steady.

"It's quite all right, gentlemen," she said, rousing up her Baggins' manners and dignity. "I was wrong to run off like that, you didn't mean any harm."

Thorin came back to camp and sat down heavily on the opposite side of the fire, as far away from Bella as possible. Bella glowered at him and said, mostly to Fili and Kili but hoping that prideful git would hear as well.

"And I should really thank you, since I believe you've cured me of whatever illness causes me to blush."

* * *

_I have many weaknesses-one of them is Aberdeen, another is Bagginshield. This is rated T for now, but don't worry, we'll get to the smutty part soon. ;) -fyrelark_


	2. II

**trigger  
**_[Part II of III]_

* * *

"_No!"_

She half-fell from the tree branch, limbs snapping and cracking in her wake, scraping the skin clean off her calves. Landing flat on her face, she spat out a mouthful of dirt and sprinted towards the battle, away from safety and the trees. Sparks flew around her, and a burning branch collapsed directly in her path; embers sizzled on the hem of her jacket but she tumbled over the tree, unmindful of the burns. Thorin, beautiful, proud, strong Thorin lay on the ground, his eyes closed; beneath the furs and leather she couldn't see his chest rising. Everything seemed very still, and she heard her heartbeat in her ears as she unsheathed Sting.

An Orc, huge and brawny, piercings glinting in the moonlight, arched his back and drew his sword high. Bella saw Thorin grasping for his sword, and in a huge rush of hope she realized that he wasn't dead.

Bella flew out of nowhere and tackled the Orc, her small weight unsteadying him and sending them both crashing to the ground. The Orc's mighty fist, mailed and lethal as any club, came smashing down towards her head but she drove Sting upwards, sheathing it fully in the horrible creature's chest. It roared and rolled off of her, and her nostrils were filled with the rank stench of Orc breath, and her trousers were getting soaked with black, sticky Orc blood, but she stabbed him twice more, once in the neck for good measure, and then stood up.

"Don't you touch him!" she shrieked at Azog, trembling with rage. "Don't you _dare_ touch him!"

She spread her legs and tried to stop the shaking in her hands, but everything was shaking, and her vision was blurry with tears. Her teeth set into a snarl and she swung Sting ineffectually several times at Azog, who was looking at her with something like brutish amusement. If he took one step towards her Dwarf, she knew in her large, comfort-loving, Hobbity heart that she would cut his head from his shoulders. His Warg growled deeply and behind Azog came several other Orcs, all riding their mangy, filthy beasts; they circled her like a pack of wolves, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Bella's eyes narrowed.

Fili, Kili, and Dwalin came bursting in on the Wargs, swinging their swords and axes. Azog surged forward, and his Warg met the business end of Dwalin's axe. Bella heard a huge, awful sounding war cry burst from somewhere in her proximity, and realized dimly that she was screaming like a maniac. It felt odd and she thought she must look _very_ ridiculous, but it didn't matter, because she was protecting Thorin, and she threw herself recklessly into the battle. An Orc, his head easily the size of Bella's waist, rode forward and Bella pounced on him, stabbing everything she could possibly reach. Something large rose within her, something very Tookish and very un-Baggins, and she rolled with the Orc on the ground, gritting her teeth as she ripped Sting out from its thick hide.

Something came up behind her and clamped onto her shoulder; Bella howled in pain and drew Sting backwards, flailing the blade against whatever was biting into her shoulder and back. A Warg threw her effortlessly, and Bella landed flat against a shelf of rock, the wind driven from her. Gasping and bloodied, her shoulder aching, she looked up at Azog who loomed over her. His scarred, pale face twisted into a sick smile as he leveled his blade at her.

There was a piercing, keening noise which cut through the air, and everyone looked up. Silhouetted against the moon, eagles came swooping in from every direction, seizing Wargs and dropping them effortlessly off the cliff. The Orcs hissed and began to retreat, and with a booming noise a burning tree was felled. Azog's Warg reared and wheeled away from the fire that was snaking around them, crisping the Warg's fur; Bella struggled to breathe and bright silver stars burst in her vision.

Eagles began descending, scooping up Dwarves and flying towards the large silver moon. Bella saw a perfectly enormous eagle carefully curl talons around Thorin's still form; his thick hair fell down in a curtain, and she saw the burnished oaken shield he wore on his arm fall from his limp fingers.

Something deep within her clenched, and tears sprang to her vision. No. Not her proud, beautiful king, not the Dwarf who so longed for home; he couldn't die now, with the mountain in their sights. He couldn't die now. He couldn't die _ever_. What would she do without Thorin?

She saw an eagle coming straight for her, and shook her head, scrambling away a little on the ledge. Claws scooped her up, none-too-gently, and Bella yelped in surprise as the ground beneath her shrank drastically. Feeling suddenly woozy, Bella touched her hairline and realized she had received a nasty knock on the head, not to mention she was now forty…fifty…oh dear…nearly a hundred feet away from the ground.

That really was quite the distance, she decided.

* * *

What seemed like an eternity later, Bella and the rest were deposited lightly on a small, craggy cliff overlooking a large plain. Gandalf hadn't been on the ground ten seconds before he hurried over to where Thorin lay unmoving on the ground; Bella tried to fight her way through the thicket of Dwarves that were surrounding the Wizard and their fallen king. A gnawing emptiness was filling her from the belly up—it was like swallowing a boulder but having nothing at all to eat, a dreadful feeling. She pressed her fist to her mouth.

Gandalf passed his hand over Thorin's eyes and lips, murmuring something in a long-forgotten language.

Thorin's eyes, those beautiful striking eyes, opened.

"The Halfling," he rasped, sounding like it took every ounce of strength out of him.

Hope flared in Bella's chest, lighting up her every feature, and she thought that if she opened her mouth some of that hope was sure to spill out. It took all of two steps to reach Thorin, but if she had run any further she was sure she would have bounded up in the air and drifted away like a balloon. She pushed her way past Nori and dropped to her knees next to Thorin, who was trying to get up.

"No, no, don't you dare get up," she said, her voice catching on a sob, "Stay still, you stupid lump of a Dwarrow, let me see where you're hurt…"

"You could have gotten yourself killed," he snarled, sounding venomous. Those eyes were full of fury and something bordering on despair; it was like being stabbed in the chest with an icicle. Despite what she said, he was still trying to rise.

Bella sat up, scowling at him, tears running down her cheeks. "I can't think of a better way to die!" she cried. "If I can't die for someone I love than what's the use of having friends at all? I'd rather die at the hands of an Orc, defending _you_, than spend a hundred years in my armchair reading about – mmph!"

He dragged her into a one-armed hug, crushing her smaller frame against his. She froze, unsure what exactly had prompted this outburst of affection, but Thorin slumped back against the frozen earth and gripped her tighter to him. He groaned, half in pain, and Bella couldn't stop the tears; she dropped her head against the crook of his neck and sobbed into his hair. Being near him had triggered something in her, and it was wonderful and terrifying all at once; something that had been rusted shut snapped suddenly open and for all the world she would have stayed right there, in Thorin Oakenshield's arms, until the end of time.

"I'm so glad you're alive," she said, muffled, "I am so _awfully _glad."

And it might have been her imagination, but she thought she felt him pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

"_Always_."

* * *

Thorin winced and eyed the sheep. It was not an altogether unbecoming sheep, but having livestock in such close proximity to his bed was rather worrisome. The sheep in question was pouring him a glass of water with rather dexterous hooves, and when the woolly beast had finished it dropped to all four feet and trotted away, baa-ing blithely. Beorn was a gracious host, as were his pets, apparently. In all of his travels, he could not recall better or more attentive service from animals.

Bella came bustling in, her hair pinned up and her skin glowing pink from a bath. He sank back against the pillows, watching the sunlight catch every highlight in her hair, the lazy golden dust motes dance around her as she hurried around the room. There was something so domestic and familiar about her, the way she took up space in a room the way a friendly cat might; listening but not giving any sign of it, merely there for the company and warmth. She sat on the edge of his bed and pulled back the covers, checking on the mass of bandages which covered his torso.

He watched her carefully, and even though she didn't look at him her cheeks were growing steadily pinker beneath her freckles.

"You haven't been cured," he rumbled, lowering his lashes.

"What?" Bella started, blinking at him. "It's _you_ who hasn't been cured—were you trying to walk around the room again, you _know_ that's not good for your stitches…"

"When I spoke to you last," Thorin continued, "you told the lads that you had been cured. And yet you sit here, blushing like a primrose at dawn."

She swallowed hard, and her cheeks glowed. "I…whatever disease I've got, I don't think it's curable," she said, very quietly. "Nor is it something I'd _want_ to cure. I think…oh, drat it, I ought to go…do something…"

He caught her sleeve. "Stay. Please."

Slowly, Bella sat back down on the bed, looking at his face but not meeting his eyes. She really was blushing terribly, and her hands were shaking. She knotted them together in her lap and tried to stay very still. His hand hadn't moved from her wrist, and instead moved slowly to cover both her hands.

"You are not cold," he said, noting the warmth of her hands, "are you afraid of me, Miss Burglar?"

"N-no," she said, unconvincingly. "I…well, you are a terrifying creature, Mister Oakenshield."

"I shall try to be slightly less terrifying, if it makes you more comfortable," Thorin murmured. Bella gave a despairing laugh.

"You terrify me in the way adventures terrify me, Mister Oakenshield—and if you haven't noticed, I'm not terribly skilled at adventures. You can't help but be noble and kingly and all that rot, it's in your blood, just like adventures can't help but be uncomfortable and full of mosquitoes." She withdrew one of her hands to put it on top of Thorin's, and found herself gripping his fingers as she spoke. "And I know it was silly of me, to be frightened of you, but I think now I'm more frightened _for_ you."

She glanced up at him. "And you can be so horribly annoying. That helps, sometimes. So no, I am not frightened of you. Not to mention you've already seen me cry over your body, so that made some things easier."

He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles and couldn't help but suppress a laugh. "I am sorry to have been annoying, Miss Baggins, and I am very sorry to have made you cry."

Bella laughed, trying to lighten the mood, and patted the back of his hand uncomfortably. "Don't fret yourself about it, Mister Oakenshield, it wasn't the first time you'd made me cry."

Thorin grew very serious, and his hands tightened over hers. He stopped her from rising from the bed. "Bella. Have I truly made you cry?"

_Oh, don't say my name_, Bella thought desperately, _don't say my name in that voice of yours._

"W-well, yes, upon occasion," she muttered, squirming in her embarrassment, "but only when you have been especially cruel."

He frowned, brows drawing together. "_Especially_ cruel?"

She huffed out a breath that was caught between a laugh and a sigh. "You called me a _grocer_."

"It seems I have a very long list of things to be sorry for," Thorin said quietly. "And I will ask your forgiveness for each of them, Miss Baggins."

Bella bit her lower lip and looked up towards the ceiling for strength, then looked straight at his eyes. "You don't have to be sorry for a bit, Mister Oakenshield. The only thing you have to do is sit here and _heal_. I'll make you apologize when you're at full strength." Impulsively, she bent over and kissed his forehead.

He was still frowning, not seriously paying attention, and then he looked at her in that peculiar way that was like looking _into_ her. "Bella…please sit. I…I am not skilled with words but I shall try to speak what is on my heart."

Tears were springing to her eyes and it became rather hard to talk. "Oh, Thorin, _please_, don't do that…"

"No, for you were right, I have been cruel. I did think you unskilled and unsuited for our journey, but above all I felt guilty for taking you from your comfortable home and your…gentle way of life. My company and I have been living hard for years and have naught to lose, but you…you have everything to lose. For this, above all else, I beg for your forgiveness, because you have proven yourself a thousand times and beyond, that you are a worthy member of this company."

"Stop it right now, Thorin Oakenshield," Bella said thickly, "because if you continue this shall be the second time in a week that you made me cry."

He touched her cheek, his eyes softening. "I would like to see you laugh for every time I have made you cry, Bella."

She kissed his knuckles and shook her head, curls loosening from the pins and framing her face. "I…I thought I had everything to lose," she sighed, "but if I hadn't gone on this journey, I would have had nothing. I would have stayed safe and comfortable and I would have never heard you sing. I would go on a hundred adventures, just to hear you sing like that. It was something so wonderful and full of hope and longing, and I realized that I would sound like that, if I ever left Bag End. And I couldn't…I couldn't let you go on your own, not to face down a dragon all by yourself. I had to help somehow, because I would _hope_ that someone would do the same for me."

He studied her, and then smiled. She watched it with fascination, squashing down the urge to kiss those smiling lips. "Face down a dragon…tell me, Bella, why were you so angry with me that night?"

It took her a moment to recall what he was thinking. "Oh! Well, I…to be perfectly honest, I was rather tired of feeling like a sensible, feminine lady. I…I had a rather terrific crush on you, and it was getting rather embarrassing. I wanted you to see me as a member of the company, not a female you had to protect."

"Had?" he asked, eyebrows rising. Her blush returned as quickly as though someone had pinched her cheeks.

"I suppose…oh, bother it, Mister Oakenshield, I've had a crush on you since the moment I saw you. And I don't think I've stopped. I don't think I'll _ever_ stop mooning over you, no matter how stupid and beastly and hugely irritating you become. It must be a curse, part of my Took side, because my _father_ would never have—"

He kissed her then, very tenderly, one hand cupping her cheek and turning it. She put a hand on his chest, neatly avoiding the bandages, and then melted against his side, kissing him firmly back. The room was very quiet for a moment, and then she laughed against his neck. "_Well_…"

"You are a wondrous woman, Bella Baggins," Thorin breathed, "and you are a rare, precious thing to protect. I do not call you feminine because I see you as weak—I call you such because you are beautiful and I would see no harm befall you."

She snuggled against his side, careful not to touch his bandages. "And you, Mister Oakenshield, are a great sodding lump, which I will protect by any means necessary. _Someone_ has to do it."

Bella kissed him pertly on the corner of his mouth, but _that_ didn't last long—he seemed hungry for her kisses, and growled approvingly when she stroked his beard. He tasted of woodsmoke and something else, distinctly _Thorin_, and being cuddled next to him, enjoying his kisses suddenly seemed a distinctly lovely thing to be doing. Her heart seemed very full, and even though she was deliriously happy she felt like crying as well. Bella dropped her head on his collarbones and stayed there, listening to the steady beat of his heart, his fingers buried in her hair.

Falling in love with him was as easy as falling asleep, as easy as pulling a trigger, as easy as letting go…it was quick and perfect and somehow tied together with twine. She couldn't picture Thorin in her comfortable house at Bag End, but she could picture him here, resting and healing and falling in love with her in the house of a skinwalker, being tended to by sheep.

"Thorin Oakenshield, I don't think you're doing _anything_ to help me get over my crush."

"Nor I do I wish to," he rumbled. "Now give me a kiss, my darling Burglar."

* * *

_They really are quite sweet, aren't they?_

_Would also like to note that due to a request, the romance in this story shall remain PG. /sigh/ I'll write some smutty Bagginshield as a one-shot, instead of a continuing story. Or perhaps I'll do both. -fyrelark_


	3. III

**trigger**

_[Part III of III]_

* * *

"Agh!"

Bella scrabbled to breathe, her small blunt nails biting into Thorin's heavy forearm. He had her pinned against a wall, her feet kicking uselessly a good two feet above the ground, and it was getting increasingly difficult to draw breath. Fierce blue eyes glared at her, full of hatred and betrayal, and Bella felt an acute wrench of pain in her abdomen. She had hurt him, she had gone behind his back, but she had been trying to stop a _war_, and Thorin simply wasn't himself, he never looked at her like that—

"You," Thorin snarled, leaning harder against the wall and cutting off her air entirely, "you filthy _Halfling_! You betrayed me! I _trusted _you, the _company_ trusted you. How _dare_ you steal the Arkenstone—my right!"

"Thorin-" Bella coughed, her head beginning to pound, "p-please…s-sorry…"

Those eyes were mad. Mad with power and lust of gold. And in her heart, she knew that she would die of a broken heart if the last thing she saw was Thorin looking at her with such hatred and raw pain. Just when the whole world sharpened to a narrow point, when the only thing she could hear was her own thunderous heartbeat, he dropped her.

She hit the frozen dirt hard, skinning her knees, and choked miserably for air. The precipice was a mere hair's breadth away. Something roared and rushed in her ears, and she fell flat on her back, gasping in huge breaths.

Thorin crouched over her. There was a knife in his hand.

_Oh dear Yavanna…_

He seized her by the hair, twisting her to one side, and in one sharp instant she knew at once that he wasn't going to kill her. He was going to do something far, far worse, and a sob burst from her.

The knife was sharp. It only took a second to saw through the small betrothal braid he had lovingly crafted behind her ear. She remembered that evening in a moment—when he leaned in to kiss her, the crackle of the fire, the tender way he stroked her cheek with his knuckles. She had snuggled down next to him that night, breathing in heady amounts of his scent and cuddling next to his warm chest. How deliriously happy she had been, and how she had thrown it all away.

But she couldn't have a war. She had done it to protect Thorin, to keep him from getting killed…

He stood and shoved the bead into his pocket. "Do what you wish," he growled. "You shall find no protection from the members of this company."

Thorin swept away, past the stricken Dwarves, who all looked at Bella with hurt and pity. But they wouldn't leave their king. Bella pulled herself up on an elbow and cried; his boots crunching through the snow almost drowned out the creaking snap of her heart breaking.

* * *

It was over.

She stood among the ruins of Laketown, big black flakes of ash drifting down to mingle with the snow. Over at last, everything that mattered—Smaug was dead, his carcass smoldering in the giant lake of Esgaroth; the battle that had waged, 'The Battle of the Five Armies', as she titled it in her head, was over and done. So many lives had been lost, so much pain had been inflicted. Memories, fresh and oozing, poisoned her thoughts and kept her from sleeping. Finding somewhere to sleep was difficult; the last time, she had woken up half the tent with her screams of fear. The other half had been dealing with dreams of their own. Terrors haunted them whenever they closed their eyes.

Her hair was pinned tightly up, away from her face, but the shorn off piece of hair fluttered awkwardly behind her ear and curled beneath her jawline. For a few days, Bella had been tempted to cut off everything, to just tear her hair out because _nothing_ could soothe the savage rip in her heart, but it had passed. She kept the short lock as a reminder to herself—that in addition to battles and dragons and gold, her brief, desperate betrothal with Thorin Oakenshield was over.

"Terrible, isn't it," a gruff voice came from behind her. She smiled through her tears and relaxed when a familiar heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

Bella turned to see Dwalin standing next to her, his dark tattoos standing out against the backdrop of muddy snow. His burns had been bandaged and it had been a miracle that he made it through the battle at all. Surprisingly, he had been among the ones least damaged by the battle, although he was nursing cracked ribs, heavy burns, and an arrow wound to his shoulder.

She tucked his cloak more tightly around him. "You're not supposed to be out of bed," she chided. "The most terrible thing right now is the state of your dressings, and we're standing in the burning ashes of a massacred town."

He shrugged off her motherings. "I came to tell you –" he said, and then broke off. Bella looked up at him with worried eyes.

"Came to tell me what?"

"He's awake," Dwalin said finally. "The others didn't want to tell you, but I figured you had a right, and you'd find out anyhow, since you're the nosiest thing I've ever –"

Bella pounced on him and hugged him tightly. He groaned in pain and she released him, concerned and sorry but grateful all the same. "Oh, _thank you_, Dwalin, you wonderful Dwarf," she breathed, and pressed her lips against his cheek.

"Steady on," Dwalin objected, frowning, "the others didn't want to tell you because he specifically asked that you _not _be allowed into his tent."

Her heart sank.

"Did…did he say why?" she said, her gaze lowering. The image of Thorin's hate-filled blue eyes flashed in her vision and she winced. "That's a stupid question," she mumbled. "Never mind."

She put her hands in her pockets and fingered the small gold ring which had been such a source of comfort to her these past weeks. "No…I know that, I do," she said, her voice thick. "I should see him…at least once, before I leave. I owe it to him."

Dwalin cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the amount of sentiment currently floating around, and nodded brusquely. She looked up at him and then took him by the arm. "Come on, you big lug," she said firmly, "back to bed with you."

She delivered Dwalin back to bed and checked on Fili and Kili, who were both being tended to by Elvish healers. Fili had been struck by some kind of poisoned arrow which the healers were unaccustomed to dealing with, and Kili had received a rather nasty knock to the head. Both of them were recovering splendidly but unable to leave their beds or keep down any measure of food. Their tent was quiet and dark, and for a moment she just sat still and breathed.

Bella had planned to leave for Hobbiton the week after next, after ensuring that every member of her company reached some level of recovery. They had all expressed their sorrow with her, apologizing over and over again for not staying with her after Thorin's accusations, but Bella had forgiven the lot of them. It wasn't their fault, not a bit—Thorin had been the one to pin her up against a wall, and there wasn't a single Dwarrow who would go against the will of their king. She couldn't blame them.

But Thorin…

She still loved him. Deeply, ferociously, wildly, she loved him with the kind of bone-deep emotion that she had previously thought herself incapable of feeling. A crush—pah. No tween had felt this way before. But he would never forgive her, never truly see past the betrayal she had wrought against him. And yet, no matter how many times she agonized over her options, how many times she went back in her mind and replayed their encounter, there was nothing else she could have done. Bella would have done it again—stolen the Arkenstone and given it to Thranduil, even at the cost of her betrothal and Thorin's love for her. That was why he could never love her; because in her heart of hearts, she would do it again.

Bella tucked her cape more firmly around her throat and then left, her heart hammering in trepidation.

* * *

Thorin's tent was dark, and she could see Dori sitting outside, smoking a pipe and guarding the entrance. The urge to slip on the ring and sneak inside was strong, but Dori would notice the tent-flap moving, and anyway, he would hear Bella talking. Thorin most likely wouldn't speak to her. So she summoned some courage and hurried up to the tent, walking towards Dori.

He squinted at her. "Dwalin told you then, eh?"

Bella feared her voice would squeak, so she simply nodded.

Dori sighed. "I shouldn't let you in, lassie."

"Please, Dori," Bella found her voice, and swallowed. "I…I need to see him just once. Just to say some things. I'll go mad, I know it, if I leave for home without saying them."

Dori's mouth tightened. "Aye, I know."

"May I please enter?"

Wordlessly, he gestured with his pipe, and Bella pushed aside the tent flap.

It was very dark inside, and it smelled of damp fur, sweat, and ground herbs. She knew that smell—it was a sickroom smell. But she could see him lying on the bed, his silhouette still proud and unbent despite the vicious beating that had been given to him by the Orcs; his chest rose and fell steadily. Dwarrow were hardier than most, she knew, but the injuries he had sustained were painful and many.

"Is that you, Balin?" he rasped.

Bella almost couldn't speak. Then, she licked her lips and said, "No…no, I'm afraid it isn't."

He went abruptly silent, and his chest hitched.

"I know I shouldn't be here," she rushed on, "and you'll have to forgive me for intruding like this, but I'm leaving the week after next and I thought I should at least say good bye, because, I mean, we were betrothed at least for a little while, and if I _don't_ say goodbye than I'll hate myself for the rest of my life—I already hate myself, and yet I feel so guilty that I don't regret my actions, I just wish there had been a different way, and—"

"Bella," Thorin rumbled, "come here."

Eyes full of tears, Bella obeyed.

He reached up and touched her face, turning his head with what seemed like an eternity's worth of effort. "Bella…_ghivashel_…forgive me…"

_Forgive _me?

"How I have wronged you…how I have hurt you…I have no right to ask that you stay, that you could find it in your heart to forgive me…if you wish to go I shall not argue, but –"

"Oh, you stupid, stupid beast," Bella cried, and kissed the palm of his hand. "That wasn't _you_, it wasn't you at all, it was the gold fever talking. I only wish you could forgive _me_, for I _did_ betray you, only I couldn't see another way, and I didn't want to hurt you, not a bit."

He stroked her cheek, moving upwards to twirl the short lock of hair around his finger. His face, those beautiful cerulean eyes, so full of pain and regret. "How I have hurt you…" he whispered. "A lesser creature would have never looked me in the face, and yet here you are, asking _me_ for forgiveness. You did me no wrong, _ghivashel_, and caused me no pain that I did not cause myself."

She knelt down next to his bed and rested her forehead on the mattress. He plunged his fingers deep into the mass of hair, loosening pins and letting loose curls tumble around her face. "Why didn't you want me to come?" Bella asked, her voice muffled. "I thought you never wanted to see me again."

"So ashamed…" Thorin murmured, "so fearful that I would look into your eyes and see nothing but bitterness and hatred…"

"Never," Bella swore, and kissed him firmly on the wrist, "never, never, _never_."

He murmured something in Khuzdul, then said, "Come, lay next to me, my burglar—I shall not sleep without knowing you are safe in my arms."

She curled next to him, taking care not to rest on his injuries, leaning her head on his shoulder. A laugh burbled from her throat and he stroked the nape of her neck. "This is the second time I've lain next to you and cried while you're injured," Bella pointed out.

"And I am sure it will not be the last," Thorin said quietly.

There was still much to discuss, much to apologize for. Things had to be talked about and planned, forgiveness had to be earned, but for the moment, both were content to simply stay still in the dark, breathing and thinking of the things to come.

* * *

_So completes this story. Could have gone on longer, but I'm content with where it is. -fyrelark_


End file.
